Heart of the Storm
by catharticone
Summary: Fear of the storm was just a memory... Rose and her Doctor post "Journey's End." A sequel of sorts to "What's in a Name."
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:__ "Doctor Who" is the property of the BBC, and I'm just borrowing for a bit…_

_Author's Note__: As always, I owe a special thanks to Sonic Jules for beta assistance and unwavering support._

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She sat watching the sea. The grey waves lapped at the pebbly sand, leaving foamy traces across the beach. Her eyes moved to the darkening sky. A storm was brewing, and in its wake the water would roil and rage, crashing over the rocks and spattering the windows with cold, salty spray. But the impending squall did not frighten Rose. Indeed, she welcomed it.

She shifted around slightly on the sofa, hugging one of the soft, large cushions. Soon the Doctor would be home, and he would envelop her in his arms as they watched the storm together, admiring the force of nature and the raw beauty of the pelting rain and jagged lightning.

He might remember once, long ago, fearing an approaching storm, but it had not been a tempest that frightened him. Sometimes that night in 2012 London seemed so distant, and Rose felt completely removed from it, as though he'd only described it to her, as if she hadn't been there with him. And yet he was the one who had been absent physically but held the memory with eidetic perfection.

The room was growing dark, and she supposed she should rise and switch on a lamp. But she felt cozy and languid among the cushions, and anyway he could see well with minimal light. Perhaps his vision wasn't quite as acute as his predecessor's, but he shared many traits with the Time Lord. All of his senses were enhanced far beyond a human's, and his intellect was, of course, infinitely superior.

He'd slipped into his new job with utter ease, showing far more knowledge and skill than most who shared his profession. Oh, he'd reviewed a few texts, popped into a handful of classes at the university, and observed at the hospital just to ensure that his demonstrated knowledge didn't outstrip that of the time. Unsurprisingly, once he began practicing medicine, he'd shown a tremendous talent and affinity for the work.

Rose had encouraged him to choose a specialty that would challenge him, perhaps neurosurgery or genetics. But he'd gravitated toward pediatrics, finding an immediate rapport with his young patients and relishing the opportunity to ensure that they grew into healthy adults. Perhaps a bit of his seemingly infinite store of knowledge wriggled into his work, but he kept it subtle, usually managing to surreptitiously nudge the appropriate specialist toward the correct diagnosis and treatment for the occasional exotic ailment.

He'd become immensely popular among the parents in the West End within a very short time. He was a bit quirky, undeniably charming, and clearly brilliant, and virtually every mother, father, and child adored him. She suspected that at least half of the mothers, and a handful of the fathers, had a bit of a crush on their handsome pediatrician, but she knew he only had eyes for her.

**

Rose had continued her work at Torchwood while the Doctor quickly became established in his practice. Neither minded the late-night calls and weekend emergencies that required their attentions, though both savored the hours they spent together. Perhaps they would have continued with their busy careers indefinitely… but fate, or the universe, or whatever they chose to call it, seemed to have a different plan.

She'd found the report buried beneath a stack of files detailing alien craft sightings, unusual rift activity, and alien suspects in various nefarious acts. It was all typical Torchwood business. The report, however, was just a bit different. It had been submitted by the parliamentary representative for the tiny Lodeshire district, on the west coast. Over the past five years, the area had seen a disproportionately high incidence of serious illness among its residents, young and old alike. The local physician believed it indicated something akin to a cancer cluster, though the diseases seemed less discrete.

Understanding the Doctor's desire to distance himself from Torchwood's typical pursuits, Rose had resisted the urge to seek his expertise on previous matters that crossed her desk. This one, however, screamed for his skills.

Still, her hand had shaken slightly as she set the file on the coffee table that night. She'd prefaced the request with an apology and watched anxiously as his expression fell when she told him she wanted him to take a look at a Torchwood case. Perhaps it had been her own expression, a complex mix of deep concern, sadness and contrition, that prompted him to open the folder without complaint.

He required less than 30 seconds to skim the contents then look up at her and say, "It's good you brought this to me."

The next day he'd cancelled his appointments and they'd driven out to Durryvale, the largest village in Lodeshire, to speak with Dr. Reice and review his records. They found the elderly physician pale and exhausted yet infinitely grateful for their interest and possible assistance.

When the Doctor quietly informed her that Dr. Reice was gravely ill, Rose was not surprised. The gentle country doctor had tried to secure a replacement, but word had spread about the high rate of illness in the area, and others were reluctant to consider the position.

Rose and the Doctor had remained in Lodeshire for nearly a week investigating. On the fifth day, he'd found the cause of the trouble: an artifact of alien origin buried shallowly in the heart of the district. The object's composition was the root of the problem. Long-term exposure to the key element had deleterious consequences for the human body.

A Torchwood team swept in on the sixth night and removed the artifact, but its effects would continue to manifest in the local populace for some time. Dr. Reice had collapsed early the following morning. The Doctor attended him and provided palliative care, but it was clear even to Rose that the man would not last long.

She'd sat with him for a time, offering what comfort she could. At one point he'd roused from his stupor to speak in halting yet heart-felt words.

"Please, find someone… to come… to keep helping them. They need… a good doctor."

Perhaps it had been a coincidence that her Doctor entered the room at precisely that moment. She looked up to meet his stricken gaze.

"Yes," she told the ill man, "they do."

**

Rose submitted her letter of resignation the next day. She'd expected to feel regret, or ambivalence at the very least, but the moment she handed over the envelop a surge of relief swept through her.

Pete accepted her resignation with a warm smile. "Now you've found him, this isn't where you need to be," he said.

He was right. She realized that the constant pressures of her job—unending danger, frequent violence, and unyielding stress—were wearing on her. Suddenly it occurred to her that she'd felt weary for some time.

The Doctor arranged for a bright, amiable fellow he'd met at Charing Cross to take over his practice. His patients were disappointed, but none could remain upset with him for long. In the end, they all wished him well with hugs and smiles.

Three days before the move Rose found a small satin-covered box on her pillow. She lifted it and opened it slowly. Inside was a band of sapphires and diamonds beautifully set in platinum. She looked up to see the Doctor smiling at her rather shyly from the doorway.

"Well?" he asked simply.

She slid the ring onto her finger and walked toward him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him and whispered, "Yes."

They were married the next day in a small, private ceremony with just Jackie, Pete, and Tony in attendance. Jackie made surprisingly little fuss, but Rose suspected that was due to the Doctor's securing her help in choosing the ring and arranging the ceremony. Still, her mum insisted that they have a lavish dinner at one of the city's best restaurants to celebrate. Rose couldn't say no; after all, she'd be seeing her mum and baby brother much less frequently after the move.

The Doctor and Rose spent their wedding night in their nearly empty flat. She'd kept the bedding and a few candles and bath items. They made love in the flickering candlelight and fell asleep in each other's arms, utterly spent yet completely content.

**

They settled into the village quickly. The residents warmly welcomed the new doctor and his pretty wife. In between chatting with neighbors who brought casseroles, muffins, and brightly flowering plants, Rose spent the first few days unpacking and fixing up their new house while the Doctor set up his office.

Pete had arranged to send all the components necessary for a compact yet state-of-the art diagnostic and pharmaceutical lab, which was assembled in the spacious basement beneath the office. It would be difficult to treat some of the residual illnesses with medications currently available; the Doctor required more advanced remedies. While he'd shied away from such things in the past, he and Rose both realized that in this situation such intervention was warranted.

When he returned to their new home on the fourth day, the Doctor found her asleep on the couch. She'd spent the afternoon painting the second bathroom. She'd nearly finished the job when the constant, heavy smell began making her a little dizzy and slightly nauseous. She'd stumbled out to the living room with its open windows and brisk sea air, inhaling deeply to clear her head.

Before she'd quite realized what she was doing, Rose found herself curled up on the couch, her eyelids lowering of their own accord. She hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until her husband's gentle fingers caressed her cheek and roused her to drowsy wakefulness.

"Long day?" he asked, smiling softly at her in the dusky light.

"Mmm. Smelly day," she replied. In response to his quizzical expression, she added, "Take a look at the guest bathroom."

He hurried away, returning shortly with a wide grin. "Wedgewood blue!"

"That's the top coat. I used a ragging technique—bottom color's a bit darker."

His grin softened to one reflective of nostalgia. "TARDIS blue. It's perfect."

"Is it all right, really?" she asked. She'd wanted to surprise him with the familiar color, but she'd worried that it might evoke poignant memories. She sat up to face him. The motion brought a small wave of dizziness in its wake. Rose swayed slightly.

"Hey," he said, steadying her with a hand at her shoulder. "All right?" He was peering at her in the low light.

Rose shook her head dismissively. "Just felt a bit dizzy. The paint fumes bothered me a little."

He switched on the nearest light then knelt before her. After brushing a few strands of hair away from her cheek, he pressed his hand over her brow.

"You're a little peaky," he commented. "No fever, though." His gaze met hers with the intensity of deep appraisal. "Aside from the dizziness, are you feeling all right?"

There was a time when she might have held back, but something urged her to be truthful now. "I was a little queasy before, but it's gone now."

"Did you vomit?"

She shook her head. An unpleasant thought was forming in the back of her mind. "D'you think," she began slowly.

He waited expectantly, watching her with concern.

She finished in a rush. "I mean, is it possible that the artifact affected me?"

"Oh!" Her answer appeared to surprise him. "No, Rose, that's very unlikely. Years of exposure would be required to cause any real damage. You were exposed for less than a week."

"You sure?"

He took her hand in his. "Just about. But I'll draw some blood tomorrow and run it through the lab, just to be certain. All right?"

She nodded, relieved yet still vaguely concerned. He kissed her softly then went to prepare some herbal tea. As he was leaving the room, however, he paused to turn back to her. "The color," he began. "That blue… It's perfect. Thank you."

She smiled, glad she had given her husband a tiny, almost tangible link to their past.

**

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

After almost five months in Durryvale, Rose and the Doctor were well-established members of the community. His work brought him into contact with most of the residents. Initially they'd planned that she would work with him, scheduling appointments and assisting in whatever capacity she could. However, those plans had changed shortly after their arrival.

Rose didn't mind, really, just so long as she wasn't stuck in the house all day. Gardening wasn't her passion, and she didn't particularly enjoy cooking, though she'd gotten much better at it and prepared very palatable meals most nights. Still, she'd never been one to fuss about in the kitchen. So when she'd heard the local librarian needed help, she'd happily volunteered. Wheeling book trolleys up and down the stacks provided lovely, light exercise, and during the quieter times, she could sit and read—an activity she'd rarely had the chance to indulge in during either her time at the Powell Estates or her tenure as a Torchwood employee. Now she read voraciously, her interests spanning topics from literature to history, from geology to anthropology.

Discussing what she'd read with the Doctor was another benefit of her pursuits. He loved watching her knowledge grow and proved a patient yet enthusiastic participant in their discussions. Well, the patient part took a little time. At first he'd expounded enthusiastically about each and every topic, words spewing forth at break-neck speed. While she loved listening to him, Rose craved the chance to converse about the material and develop her own thoughts rather than simply hear facts reiterated.

She'd found that frequent, deep kisses were an excellent way to encourage pauses in the Doctor's speech. After reading a basic psychology text, she learned that those very same kisses could be used as means of altering his behavior. She developed a most enjoyable system of variable reinforcement to train her brilliantly garrulous husband to include her in the discussion.

When she finally told him what she'd done, he frowned deeply then burst into laughter before kissing her senseless in retaliation.

So Rose's work in the library proved quite satisfying to her. Aside from the knowledge she gained, she also made many friends, who proved a wonderful source of support for her. The older women, in particular, kept her from missing her own mother too much. She saw Jackie every few weeks; Tony loved visiting his big sister at the seashore. Still, there were times when an understanding hug was the best medicine, and her new friends were always happy to oblige.

Today she'd only worked for a couple of hours. She'd felt just a touch of dizziness when she'd reached up to one of the higher shelves. She hadn't thought the minor incident warranted a call to the Doctor, but she'd decided to err on the side of caution and come home for a rest.

She'd tried to nap but hadn't been able to get comfortable. After a bowl of soup and a leisurely sipped mug of hot cocoa, she'd settled down on the couch. She found the motion of the waves soothing, and now the approaching storm provided a fascinating show in the darkening sky. Thunder was beginning to rumble, and she could see flashes of light in the distance.

She didn't hear the Doctor come in. When he touched her shoulder, she almost jumped.

"Sorry!" he exclaimed. "I didn't mean to startle you. Were you sleeping?" He came around in front of her and began to reach for the light on the side table.

"Don't," she said softly. "The storm's so beautiful."

His hand dropped, and he sat down beside her. Immediately she snuggled into him as his arm came around her shoulders. He kissed her temple softly.

"Busy day?" she asked, lifting her chin to plant a gentle kiss upon his lips.

"Not too. Billy Martin's got strep, and Mrs. Hudson took a bad spill but luckily didn't break anything. She won't be able to live alone much longer."

"No. Poor thing. I'll drop in and see if she needs anything tomorrow." The elderly woman lived just three houses down the beach, and Rose often walked over to visit her.

"She'll appreciate that. She's terribly fond of you." He smiled down at her. "How long have you been home?"

"Couple of hours."

"Feeling all right?" He pulled her a bit closer as his other hand came to rest on the mound of her belly.

"Better now. Had a little dizzy spell at the library."

Immediately his affectionate expression changed to one of concern. As he reached for the light, he shifted around so that he could see her face clearly. He lifted her wrist to feel her pulse.

"You should've called me, Rose," he admonished gently.

"Doctor," she replied patiently, threading her fingers through his, "I'm pregnant, not sick."

Her assessment did not reassure him. He stood quickly and hurried from the room, returning a few moments later with his medical bag. He'd slipped on his glasses, too, and somehow the sight of him as the caring country doctor brought a surge of deep warmth to Rose's heart. She felt tears forming in her eyes.

He was meant for this: For a life devoted to helping others, for the tranquility and peace of the seaside, for fatherhood… The Time Lord would have eschewed it all, but her half-human Doctor relished it. Perhaps he felt he was atoning for his past—for both of his pasts—or perhaps the human part of him was dominant and simply craved the stability of their quiet life. Either way, he was happy.

Well, at this precise moment he was rather worried, but Rose knew she was all right. Still, she offered up her arm willingly to the oncoming blood pressure cuff and sat without complaint as he completed the small procedure.

"Pressure's slightly elevated," he reported when he'd finished, "but not dangerously so."

She knew he was concerned about preeclampsia, but thus far there were no strong indicators of that particular complication.

He continued, "I'll check it again in a couple of hours. In the meantime, you're going to put your feet up—preferably in my lap—and take it easy for the rest of the night."

"Yes, Doctor," she replied with a smile.

She settled back against the cushions as he lifted her ankles to rest them over his legs. She wore only socks, which he removed so that he could rub his thumbs over the balls and arches of her feet. She sighed contentedly.

His features relaxed as his hands did their wonderful work on her overtaxed feet. He could see that she was in no danger. She wished she could convince him that everything would be fine, that she'd sail through the remainder of the pregnancy as any healthy young woman would. However, a rather rough first trimester had left him wary. She supposed it hadn't been much worse than most women's—bouts of severe nausea accompanied by initial weight loss, headaches, a couple of inopportune fainting incidents—but he'd taken it all as a sign of genetic incompatibility. He'd run test after test, scan after scan, before he was finally convinced that the pregnancy wouldn't seriously imperil his beloved wife.

Still, he kept a close eye on her. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, either. She treasured every moment she spent with him, no matter what they were doing. If she received a bit of extra pampering, well, that was all right. If he held her even closer during the night, or popped in to surprise her at lunchtime, or joined her in the shower to wash her back, she reckoned she could live with that, too.

When he'd finished with her feet, Rose scooted over to nestle within his waiting arms. They faced the window, intermittently illuminated by the brilliant flashes of lightning. The surf was crashing over the sand now, misting the panes with fine spray. The Doctor's arms tightened fractionally around her as his hand slid under her shirt then came to rest against her belly again. He rubbed gently, reverently, over her womb, and she felt the baby stir within her.

A particularly loud crack of thunder caused both of them to jerk slightly. The house shook for a few moments in the aftermath. His hand cradled her stomach protectively, although he was probably unaware of the action.

"Storm's going to be a bad one," he told her, but his voice held interest rather than fear.

"Mmm," she agreed softly. "We'll get a good show."

He kissed the top of her head. "Yes, we will."

A vivid bolt of lightning flared across the black sky.

"Ooh," he exclaimed, "spectacular! Five forks! Did you see them all, Rose?"

"Yeah. Pretty amazin'."

She loved that the storm brought him only joy. She moved her hands to rest over his and over their child.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Rain pounded against the rooftop as heavy rivulets ran down the windowpanes, obscuring their view of the turbulent sky. They could still see the flashes and hear the resonating booms, but the dazzling display was now muted.

The Doctor had just suggested some tea when his mobile rang. He pulled his hands away from Rose's stomach with a small sigh then reached for the phone. She watched his expression grow sober as he listened. A few words were exchanged, and he ended the brief conversation with, "I'll be right there."

Night-time emergencies were no surprise to the Doctor and his wife; indeed, in a small community nearly an hour's drive from a hospital they were fairly common. In the wee hours, he'd delivered two babies, set a dozen broken bones, and even removed an appendix since they'd arrived in Durryvale.

"What is it?" she asked. His countenance revealed deep concern.

The Doctor was already gathering his bag. "Car accident. Looks like Iain McManus skidded off the road and hit a tree. Family was in the car, too. Could be a couple of broken bones, and it sounds like Allison and at least one of the boys'll need some sutures."

Beginning to push herself to her feet, Rose inquired, "Do you need my help?" She'd been trained in basic field medicine while at Torchwood, and early in the pregnancy—before she'd been so ill—she'd accompanied him to emergencies regularly.

"No, love." He pressed a hand over her shoulder gently to prevent her from rising. "You just rest. I'll give you a call when I can." He bent quickly to kiss her cheek then strode into the hallway to don his coat.

"Be careful out there," she called. "An' tell everyone I'm thinking of them."

He offered her a brief yet appreciative smile before he slipped out the door.

Rose settled back on the couch, her gaze moving toward the window again. However, she didn't really feel like watching the storm any more. Knowing that her husband and an injured family were out in it took away all of its appeal. She reached for a book on the coffee table and flipped it open.

When the windows began to shake some time later, she assumed it was from the thunder. Yet as she thought about it, she realized that she hadn't heard any rumbles. She looked up to see the rain slashing horizontally against the glass. Strong winds were rattling the panes within their frames.

The lights flickered briefly and then the room was shrouded in darkness. Rose sat very still for a few seconds, waiting for another bolt to provide illumination to the house. When the flash came, she looked about quickly to get her bearings. A pretty, scented candle sat on the coffee table, but the matches were across the room in the side table drawer. The path from the couch to said table was clear.

She heaved herself up and walked with slow, tentative steps toward the far end of the living room. While she knew there was nothing in her way, she felt clumsy and unwieldy, and a stumble was the last thing she needed.

She reached the side table without incident and found the matches at the back of the drawer. She lit one then shuffled as quickly as she could back toward the couch. The match burnt out just as she reached the coffee table. She lit another and lowered the tiny flame to the candle. In a few moments the glow cast the room in soft shadows.

The windows continued to shudder, and she could hear the wind howling outside. Rose was about to sit down again when the phone rang. She'd left the cordless on the coffee table. She reached for it, anticipating the Doctor's voice when she answered. Instead she heard a tremulous whisper.

"Rose?"

"Yes?"

"It's Mrs. Hudson. My power went out."

"Ours, too," she replied. "Are you all right?"

"I'm…" The frail woman paused.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Rose prompted, her heart fluttering in concern.

"It's dark, and I can't see, and I thought I'd left the torch by the bed, but it isn't here. I'm supposed to take my medicine…or I could get… a blood clot." Her voice trailed off, and Rose heard a muffled sob.

Without further consideration, she replied, "I'm coming over. Just stay where you are; don't try to move. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"I hate to bother you," Mrs. Hudson said quaveringly.

"It's no bother. I'll be right there."

Another sob ended in a deep exhale of relief. "Thank you, Rose."

"No problem. Be there in a mo'."

She hung up and shambled toward the kitchen, candle in hand to light her way. She took the large torch from the drawer beside the sink, testing it first to be sure the batteries were strong. After a stop in the bedroom to slip on a pair of trainers, she donned her raincoat. Unfortunately she couldn't quite get it to button over the swell of her belly. She picked up an umbrella then opened the door.

The storm was fierce. Immediately the winds whipped her hair about her face. The umbrella was of little use with the rain blowing in horizontal streaks. Still, Rose held the contraption in front of her face to try to shield herself at least partially from the driving shower.

For just a moment she was reminded of another rainstorm on a Norwegian beach many months ago. Running through the freezing deluge, she had not yet understood the gift she'd been given.

Once, perhaps a month after that first night, her Doctor had asked her if she had any regrets. She'd lain in his arms, her head beneath his chin, listening to the soft, steady beat of his heart. His hand had moved gently over her hair, and his voice had deepened with sincerity.

Without hesitation, she'd answered him, allowing her body to convey the words welling up from her heart.

They hadn't discussed it again; they didn't need to. But sometimes in the grey, early morning light she'd wake to find him watching her, his brow softly furrowed above his slightly bemused expression.

"You were dreaming," he'd tell her, and then the images would swirl foggily through her sleepy memory.

"Only of you," she'd reply. "Just you."

If he knew that occasionally—really quite rarely—she dreamt of murderous metal men, gaseous ghouls, and the screeching, knobby rubbish cans that had brought him to her he never said. She didn't, either.

Rose fought her way through the rain. Her hair was drenched within a minute, and her hands began to grow numb from the cold. She splashed through deep puddles, nearly slipping once. On sunny days the walk to Mrs. Hudson's bungalow required less than five minutes, but the turbulent night extended the journey three-fold.

By the time she reached her destination, Rose was exhausted and shivering. She stood beneath the roof for a few moments to catch her breath then tried the front door. It was locked. Bollocks. She hadn't thought to bring the key her elderly neighbor had given her some time ago.

She trudged around to the back, hoping to find the kitchen door open, but it was secured, too. She slogged through the muddy garden and found the bedroom window. She tapped softly then shone the light inside.

"Mrs. Hudson!" she called over the roar of the rain. "It's Rose." She rapped at the glass again. "Can you reach the window from your bed?"

She waited, peering inside as she moved the beam about. Finally it shone upon the old woman's pallid face.

"Rose?" she mouthed.

"Yes! I don't have my key. Where's your spare?"

She saw the gnarled, pale hands move to the sill, then waited as the window rose slowly. Once she could slid her fingers under the frame, she helped with the small task.

"Your spare key," she repeated. "Where is it?"

"I gave it to you," Mrs. Hudson rasped.

Rose sighed. "I'm comin' in," she said, raising the window fully. "Stay back so you don't get wet."

Six months ago, shimmying through a first storey window would have been ridiculously easy for the lithe, limber Torchwood agent. Now, with six months of pregnancy weighing her down, Rose found the job a bit more challenging. Try as she might, she couldn't pull herself up sufficiently to clear the sill. Against the slick, sopping brick, it was impossible to gain purchase with her feet. Finally she stood back, panting heavily, and directed the torch's beam around the yard. There, near the hydrangea, was an old lawn chair. She dragged it over to the window then, after handing the torch to Mrs. Hudson, climbed up on the tatty fabric of the seat.

She felt the material give as the weight of both feet hit it. With more alacrity than she'd have guessed she possessed, she pulled her torso through the window. The fabric ripped away, but she was able to clamber inside. Her movements were inelegant, and the wooden sill scraped against her belly with a sting, but she managed to land on her feet, preventing any real injury.

Straightening up, she grinned at her neighbor. "So, Mrs. Hudson, what can I do for you?"

The woman gaped at the dripping figure before her. "Rose. Are you… are you all right?"

"Right as rain," she replied, then giggled at the absurdity of it all. She'd felt a little rush from her minor escapade, but it faded quickly as rain pattered her through the open window. She turned to close it.

"Where's the Doctor?" asked Mrs. Hudson.

"There was an emergency—he had to go out," she replied.

She was beginning to shiver again. She walked to the bathroom to shrug out of her coat and hang it over the shower. As quickly as she could she blotted water from her face and hair with a towel then returned to the aged woman.

"Where're are your candles and matches?" Rose asked.

"I have some candles in the dining room, I think. Matches are… in the kitchen?"

With a reassuring smile, Rose took the flashlight and left the room. She found the candles easily enough, but the matches required a bit more effort. In the early stages of Alzheimer's, Mrs. Hudson had begun stashing things in odd places. Rose had some idea about this habit from pervious visits, but still she was a little surprised to find the matches in the toaster over, along with a screwdriver, two measuring cups, and a pair of scissors. She unplugged the appliance before returning to the bedroom.

She set the candle on the dresser then lit it. "That's better," she said. She saw several small bottles on the nightstand. "Which ones do you need now?" she asked, pointing.

"The blue ones?" Mrs. Hudson frowned. "I think… maybe. He wrote it all out for me."

Beside the bottles Rose found a sheet of paper. She smiled at seeing her husband's neat printing. His own native language, he'd explained, was written with swirling, sweeping letters, and he'd had to work with some diligence to write with human legibility. Now the instructions he wrote out for his patients were lettered with almost painful precision. The little notes he occasionally left for her still had hints of the more exotic script.

"All right, one of these now," she said, touching the largest of the bottles. She passed the tablet and a glass of water to her charge.

Mrs. Hudson swallowed the medication then sank back against her pillow. "Thank you, Rose. Don't know what I'd do without you… without both of you. Where's the Doctor?"

Rose smiled sadly then repeated, "There was an emergency. He had to go out."

"Oh, that's too bad."

In the candlelight, Rose could see a deep bruise over the woman's cheek. Her left hand had been wrapped, too. For just a moment she had an image of the Doctor's gentle fingers running over the fragile bones, checking for breaks with his infallible talent and slightly enhanced senses.

"The power went out," Mrs. Hudson was saying.

"Yeah, storm's pretty bad," Rose responded. Before she quite realized it, she was sinking down onto the bed to sit at the end. She reached up to push a few damp strands of hair from her face.

"Are you all right, dear?"

Rose blinked. "Oh, yeah, fine."

"You shouldn't be out in such nasty weather."

"I'm fine. I'm—"

Her words were cut off by an extremely bright flash of light and a simultaneous crack of thunder. The glass rattled sharply, drawing Rose's eyes to the window. Something was different; something had changed.

Her time traveling with the Doctor had heightened her awareness; her years at Torchwood had fine-tuned it further. The tiny prickling at the back of her neck was the first sign, and she did not ignore it. Immediately Rose's instincts kicked in. Her eyes shot from the window to Mrs. Hudson, then she lunged for the old woman, pushing her down and grabbing for the pillows as the glass shattered.

Rose rolled, shoving Mrs. Hudson over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. The old woman cried out in surprise and pain as she hit the thin throw rug. Rose fell beside her, dragging the pillows from the bed and flinging them over her head even as she positioned her body to protect the elderly woman.

She heard the groan of wood and the roar of the wind, and then the wall crumbled. Rain and debris pounded against her back her arms. Something thudded against the pillow, knocking her to the side. She landed heavily on her left shoulder, trying desperately to avoid falling onto her belly.

The wind continued to howl all around them. Rose looked up as a flash of lightning lit the gaping hole in the wall. She saw the tree across the yard, saw its branches snapping in the force of the gale, and knew that she had to get away from the impending onslaught.

"Mrs. Hudson!" she gasped, tugging at the woman's arm. She spared a moment to push the pillow away. Her neighbor was semi-conscious, her gaze cloudy beneath limp lids.

Without wasting further time with words, Rose began scooting backward, keeping a firm grip on the woman's arm, dragging her along. Leaves and smaller branches were blowing through the broken wall, and even through the vicious wind she could hear the great, resonating crack as one of the massive branches lost its battle with the squall.

Rose forced herself to move faster, hauling the limp body across the floor. The distance seemed impossibly great, her destination utterly unreachable, but she had to try… Rose took a breath and pulled harder, now half-standing, bent over her bulging belly, stumbling back, back, one more step, now two, now just the one…

"Come on, come on!" she cried.

She fell back hard on her bum. The breath left her body in a great whoosh as the huge branch crashed through the wall. She reached up to grasp the doorknob, managing to shut the closet door half-way before the branch collided with it. The door slammed back, hitting her head with sufficient force to send her sprawling onto her back.

The night grew even darker, and for one moment she clawed at the wood, then her hands wrapped over her belly as she felt consciousness slip away.

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

The Doctor tied off the end of the suture then neatly snipped the thread. Allison McManus had insisted that he treat Iain and the twins first. The boys were all right, really, with injuries no more serious than some bruises and superficial cuts from the broken glass. Iain had fractured his ulna, but it was a simple break and had been fairly easy to set.

Allison's cheekbone was badly bruised, the accompanying gash running from just beneath her eye down to her chin. The Doctor had worked with great care to repair the damage sufficiently to prevent significant scarring. Still, the cut was quite deep, with ragged edges. He planned to whip up some semi-regenerative gel down in the lab tomorrow and give it to her. There was no reason for her to bear the marks of the accident permanently.

She lay quietly beneath his steady hands, but her eyes moved out to the waiting room frequently. The twins had fallen asleep, but Iain remained awake, his own gaze meeting hers as he nodded his relief. Her expression was the same as Rose's when she spread her hands over her belly during tranquil, reflective moments.

"Almost done," he told Allison, offering her a warm, reassuring smile. He dressed the wound with care.

Voices just outside the door drew his attention away from his patient. Iain was talking in hushed tones to another man.

"Doctor," Iain said, stepping into the room, "Thomason's here. He needs to speak with you." He glanced at his wife. "Can I send him in?"

The Doctor helped Allison to sit up. "She's all set. I'll drive you home. Just give me a minute with him."

Iain led his wife out the door, and a moment later the volunteer fire chief entered. "How're they doing?" he asked.

"Everyone's going to be fine. Was someone else hurt while you removed the wreckage?" His eyes moved appraisingly over the stocky fellow.

"No, Doctor, but something else's happened." Thomason looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"What is it?"

"The storm's winds whipped up somethin' fierce, knocked down a couple of trees, took out the power. Angus Atterbury called it in."

At the mention of his neighbor, the Doctor's heart began thudding in his chest. "At his house?" he asked.

"Worst of it seemed to be at Mrs. Hudson's, but he's got some damage, too, and he was just heading over to check on Rose. With the power out, he couldn't see anything from his place."

Immediately the Doctor reached for the phone mounted on the wall. He punched in the numbers with almost savage speed then waited anxiously while the lines connected. One ring, two, three… Had Rose slept through the microburst? Four, five, six…

"She's not picking up," he said. "I have to go."

"'Course. I'll go with you."

"No. Iain needs a ride home. Can you take them?"

"Yeah."

With a curt nod of gratitude, the Doctor swept from the room. In less than a minute he had grabbed his bag and coat, promised the McManus family that he would check in on them in the morning, and reached his car.

Rain continued to fall, but the brunt of the storm had passed. He reached his house within five minutes, immediately noting the utter darkness in the neighborhood. It was strange and eerie, and it left his stomach tight and gnawing.

The front door was open, and he could see a torchlight in the bedroom. "Rose!" he called, hurrying down the hall.

"She's not here." The tall silhouette of Angus Atterbury appeared in the doorway. "I've checked the whole house."

"Did you go to Mrs. Hudson's?"

"Maggie went over straightaway, as soon as we were certain it was safe. I wanted to be sure you and Rose were all right."

"Thank you."

The words were rather perfunctory, but his mind was occupied with more pressing matters. Where the hell had Rose gone? He shone his own torch around the house, finding no real damage from the storm. He checked all the rooms and the yard, too, in case Atterbury had missed something, but Rose was definitely gone.

As an afterthought, he reached for the phone and switched it on, thankful for the modified backup battery system he'd installed several the previous month. A quick scroll through the caller ID log showed that Mrs. Hudson had phoned nearly an hour ago.

"She's over there," he informed Atterbury curtly, already hastening toward the door, "at Mrs. Hudson's."

The Doctor ran through the rain, his neighbor struggling to keep up with his long stride. He reached the elderly woman's house in less than three minutes, stopping short as his light swept the scene before him. The large elm in the yard was now merely a skeletal trunk with jagged stumps where its arching branches had once grown. His eyes moved with inexorable determination yet unyielding dread to the side of the building. A large portion of the wall had been ripped away by the hurricane-force winds.

The light bobbed in his shaking hand. "Rose!" he cried, stumbling through the debris littering the yard.

A figure appeared in the breach, and he called his wife's name again. The torch illuminated the pale, distraught face of Maggie Atterbury. Now semi-retired, she had worked as Dr. Reice's nurse for many years. She still assisted the Doctor occasionally. He knew that she was not a woman easily shaken.

"Doctor! Come quickly!" she beckoned.

Angus was behind him now, shining his torch through the hole to provide additional light. As the Doctor stepped through, Maggie took his torch.

"They're over here," she said, aiming the beam at the closet door.

A massive branch lay across the floor, blocking the door from opening.

"Mrs. Hudson's conscious," Maggie added quickly, "but I can't move the branch by myself."

"Rose?" the Doctor asked. His throat was horribly dry.

"I don't know. Mrs. Hudson's confused—"

Further conversation ceased immediately as the Doctor fell to his knees and reached for the heavy limb. Angus grasped a nearby section, and Maggie shoved at the end. The obstruction was quickly pushed away.

The Doctor lunged for the closet door and flung it open as the Atterburys aimed their torches inside. The beam hit Mrs. Hudson first. The old woman was quaking and wild-eyed.

"Doctor!" she gasped, lifting her arms to him.

But his attention was solely on the body crumpled at the back of the closet. Rose's hair covered her face, and her hands lay limply at her sides. He barely realized that Maggie was helping Mrs. Hudson out of the small space, past him and over the branch. Almost as an afterthought, he said mechanically, "Careful. She could have broken bones or a spinal injury."

He heard some vague acknowledgement as he knelt at his wife's side. Someone continued to illuminate the interior of the closet with a torch, but it was barely sufficient. Still, his fingers easily found the familiar pulse point in Rose's throat, and his own heartbeat jolted up then steadied incrementally as he felt the somewhat weak but softly steady beat beneath his hand.

Rose was alive. He exhaled and closed his eyes for one moment in profound relief.

"Is she… all right?" That was Maggie's voice, the question phrased tentatively.

He didn't bother to glance back. "I don't know."

He dreaded the process of finding out. Still, he forced himself to push aside his trepidation in favor of his professionalism. Rose needed him in his full capacity as a doctor, as _her_ Doctor.

The light flickered and changed in intensity. "Power's back on," he heard Angus say.

"Get some light over here," he instructed tersely. "And go back to my house for my bag."

He pulled his pen torch from his pocket and switched it on, brushing the hair away from Rose's face so that he could shine the small beam into each eye. There was no indication of concussion or other significant head injury despite the hematoma forming above her left eyebrow.

Maggie brought a lamp and set it just inside the closet. Now he had sufficient light to perform a cursory visual examination. His gaze ran over his wife's body. Limbs were properly aligned if slightly akimbo. He saw a few scrapes but no significant signs of bleeding on her face, torso, arms, or legs. He tried to keep his hand steady as he gently shifted her thighs apart. Her jeans were dark with wetness, and for one moment he felt panic rising. But she'd been out in the rain, and all of her clothes were wet. He pressed his fingers over the fabric then lifted the hand to his mouth. Water. All he tasted was plain, ordinary, wonderful H2O.

He lowered his hand to slide it up under her shirt, spreading his fingers over her swollen belly. He could sense nothing amiss, although the fetus was quite still. Sometimes, with sufficient concentration, he could feel the baby's heart beating, but his mind was awash in too many emotions and too many thoughts… At the moment, his wife was the priority. He returned his full attention to her.

He checked each limb carefully then ran assiduous hands over her ribcage and cervical vertebrae. With great care, he rolled Rose onto her side so that he could assess her spinal column, too. His relief grew as he found no serious injuries. Shifting her onto her back again, he adjusted her slightly her so that she lay in a more natural, comfortable position—well, as comfortable as one could be reclining amid old shoes.

"Here's your bag," said Angus, setting the requested item beside him.

"Thank you," the Doctor acknowledged, the sentiment succinct yet earnest.

He found his stethoscope quickly and checked Rose's heart and lungs. Satisfied, he slid the instrument downward. When he'd finished, he stuffed it back into his bag then looked up at Angus, who hovered just outside the closet.

"How is she?" the neighbor asked.

"I need to get her out of here," he replied, the words seeming to compress in the constriction of his throat.

"I brought my car."

With careful motions, the Doctor lifted his wife into his arms and carried her through the house. The carpets were saturated, and the bedroom was a wreck. Rather idly he noticed that Mrs. Hudson was nowhere in sight.

"Where's Mrs. Hudson?" he asked Angus, who walked at his side carrying his bag.

"Maggie took her to our house. We'll keep her there tonight."

Almost as an afterthought, he asked, "How's she doing?"

"Maggie says she'd a little shaken up, but she seems all right—nothing broken, no sign of internal injuries. She's got some bruises, but those look like they happened some time ago."

"She took a spill this morning," he replied. "She needs her medication… should be in the bedroom if you can find it. Three bottles. Maggie'll know how to administer it."

"I'll check later."

Angus led the Doctor out to the driveway, where his car waited with open back seat doors. The Doctor slid in, cradling Rose in his lap.

"Hospital?" Atterbury asked concisely.

"No. Just take us home. She'll want to be there when she wakes."

Rose stirred against his chest, making a small noise of either confusion or discomfort; he couldn't tell which.

"Sshh, love, it's all right," he soothed softly, pressing a kiss to her brow.

"Mrs… Hudson ," she murmured.

"She's fine. And we're home now, and I'm going to tuck you up in bed, all nice and cozy."

Swallowing hard, he blinked at the hot tears brimming in his eyes.

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

Cradled in the Doctor's lap, Rose began to move her hand languidly over her belly. However, he took her wrist gently and lifted it to kiss her knuckles. The car had stopped; Angus was opening the backseat door.

The Doctor got out gingerly, holding Rose tightly as he walked as steadily and smoothly as possible up the little stone path to the front door. Angus hurried ahead to turn on lights. When they reached the bedroom, the Doctor nodded to his neighbor.

"Thank you," he said.

"You let us know if there's anything we can do, if you need Maggie's help," Atterbury replied somberly. "Anything at all…"

"Yeah." He set Rose upon the bed very gently. With one quick glance back, he added, "I'll come round to check on Mrs. Hudson as soon as I can."

Depositing the bag on the night table, Angus said, "Maggie'll take good care of her. Just focus on your wife right now."

He had every intention of doing precisely that. He didn't even hear his neighbor leave. His gaze was on Rose's face. Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled back to full consciousness. He caressed her cheek tenderly and offered a few encouraging words.

"Everything's fine now. We're home."

She sighed sleepily in response. She remained dazed.

He checked her blood pressure first, finding it the same as earlier in the evening. He spent a little time probing gently over her skull, confirming that, aside from the lump on her brow, there was no injury. He'd get her some ice for the swelling later.

But at the moment, her skin felt quite cool, and he realized that she was beginning to shiver. He needed to remove her wet clothes. He probably should have done that straightaway; he knew that he was trying to postpone the inevitable.

He began with her shoes and socks then moved on to her jeans and knickers. As he slipped the undergarment down her thighs, his hands and eyes searched Rose's pale skin for any signs of blood or amniotic fluid, but thankfully there was nothing but the dampness left by her time in the rain. A little glimmer of relief tried nudge the tightness from his chest, but his mind resisted.

He steadied his hands and peeled her jumper up, noting an angry red scrape over her abdomen. She made a squeak of pain as the garment passed over her left shoulder. He murmured vague words of apology.

As soon as he'd removed the jumper fully, he ran his fingers over her clavicle and scapula then carefully felt about the acromion, coracid process, and neck of the humerus. He could discern no fractures, but he'd take an x-ray later just to be sure. The muscles were definitely strained, as though she'd hit the shoulder quite hard.

He took a few more minutes to examine her limbs again, in case he'd missed anything in his hurried assessment earlier. She had several deep bruises forming on her left thigh and hip, more evidence that she'd either slammed into something or fallen on her left side.

"C…cold," she muttered.

He looked up from her hip. Rose's eyes were open now, her gaze somewhat clearer. Her hand moved automatically to rest over her belly.

He smiled at her as he reached for his flannel pyjama top. "This should help," he said, lifting her gently and helping her into the comfortably worn shirt.

Abruptly she looked down, and her hands clasped tightly over her stomach. "The baby," she said, her voice suddenly filled with panic. "Oh my God. I fell—I fell back, and I don't remember—"

Tears flooded her eyes.

"She's all right, Rose," he told her.

"She feels so still."

He placed his hands over hers, his fingers spreading so that he could touch to tight skin of her belly. "There're no indications of fetal distress. Her heart beat's normal, and there's no sign of abruption or rupture of the amniotic sac."

"Are you—" A sob escaped her. "Are you sure?"

He nodded and reached for the stethoscope. He placed it over her womb, moving it about until he found the strongest sound. Then he tucked the earpieces into her ears.

"Listen," he said softly.

She did as tears flowed down her cheeks. "Oh!"

"Yes. She's safe, Rose. You kept her safe."

She met his gaze. "I didn't mean… I would never put her in danger. But Mrs. Hudson… There was this terrible wind, an' the glass was shaking, an' then the window shattered, an'

I had to do something, had to get her out of the way."

"So you got her into the closet. That was good thinking, Rose."

She gave a single grunt of mirthless laughter. "Dragged, more like. Is she all right?"

"I think so. Maggie's looking after her."

It was a testament to Rose's concern for their child that she did not insist that he go and check on their elderly neighbor. Instead, she said, "We should go to the office so you can do a scan."

"We will, first thing tomorrow. Best thing for you now is to just rest. I'll keep a close eye on her."

He caressed her belly again, and now, with his thoughts settled, he was able to sense their child's budding consciousness. He felt it pulse against his own as a tiny whisper.

"Can you feel her?" Rose asked quietly.

He nodded. "Yes. She's fine."

Rose exhaled slowly and sank back against the pillows. He fastened the top two buttons on the shirt and pulled the blankets up over her hips.

"Be right back," he told her, hopping to his feet and hurrying to the bathroom.

He gathered a few first aid supplies then returned to sit at her side again. She watched with half-closed lids as he gently cleaned the scrape on her stomach. As soon as he'd finished, her hand returned to rest over their daughter.

He dabbed at the lump on her brow. There was a small gash, too, but it wasn't deep and had only bled a little.

"How much does it hurt?" he asked, brushing his fingertips over her eyebrow, careful to avoid touching the wound again.

"Got a bit of a headache," she confessed, "and my shoulder's pretty sore. But as long as she's okay," she paused as her fingers curled over her belly, "I can live with it."

"I know." He kissed her temple.

A low rumble of thunder drew their attention to the window. A soft patter of rain was all that remained of the departing tempest.

"Storm's passing," Rose said sleepily.

"Yes," he agreed, sliding his fingers through hers, "it is."

**

Rose slept heavily throughout the rest of the night and well into the morning. She vaguely recalled slipping into slumber as the Doctor's soft fingertips caressed her aching head. Shortly before dawn she stirred, only to be lulled back to sleep by the feel of her husband's hand resting softly over her belly.

When she finally woke fully, he was sitting beside her with closed eyes, his fingers spread over her bared abdomen. She watched his face; his expression, she knew, was the best indicator of their child's condition.

By the time he opened his eyes and smiled at her, she'd already experienced the warm suffusion of deep relief. He kissed her belly then moved up to brush his lips over hers.

She lay patiently while he checked her blood pressure and fussed a bit over the bump on her head. She obligingly ate the scrambled eggs and toast her brought her and obediently drank her hot cocoa and orange juice.

If his actions were solicitous as he helped her to the bathroom, she didn't mind. After she had dressed in sweats and a roomy jumper, he ushered her to the living room and settled her on the couch while he hurried to the Atterburys' house to check on Mrs. Hudson. Satisfied that the elderly woman was in good hands, he returned to his wife to help her to the car.

They spent the rest of the morning and a portion of the afternoon at the office. Both were quiet during the drive home.

"Bed rest for now," he'd told her.

She changed into pyjamas and crawled into bed without protest. She felt sore and tired. He tucked the blankets beneath her chin then stepped away.

"Doctor," she said softly, extending her hand to him.

He turned to slip his fingers through hers. His expression was tight, and she could see the pain in his eyes.

"It's going to be all right," she whispered.

He nodded then sank to his knees. She lowered his head to her chest, stroking his hair as she felt the heat of his tears against her skin.

**

_To be concluded in the epilogue…_


	6. Epilogue

The cool, salty air stirred briskly in the late autumn breeze. It was ruffling his hair impossibly, but the Doctor didn't mind as he stood upon the sand, his gaze focused on the distant horizon beyond the sea.

He still remembered traveling out there, so far past the line of sight, so far beyond the confines of this village, this country, this little plant called Earth. He would always carry the memories of the wonderful, horrible, brutal, and awe-inspiring things he'd seen. But they would be tinged with distance, removed from his own experience. He could never truly understand them because they'd been devoid of human emotion.

He knew that was for the best. How could anyone bear to witness those events with a human heart? The cruelty, the brutality, the utter callousness that had accompanied many of the Time Lord's tasks had screamed for detachment, had required it to ensure his capacity to help.

Perhaps his half-human stature contained a little more than half of the human emotional spectrum. Indeed, sometimes he felt as though he'd received one hundred fifty percent, but he recognized that much of the feeling was due to his inexperience with the emotions. He was still learning how to process them and how to express them.

If he went a bit overboard, well, he supposed he could be forgiven. He knew that Rose didn't mind. In fact, that was one of the things she loved most about him. She'd held him gently as he'd cried tears of relief when he could finally admit fully that their child was unharmed. She'd waited patiently while he—normally the most garrulous git on the block—struggled to find the right words to articulate his immense love for her and their unborn daughter.

And now she stood beside him, her eyes trained on the waves, not upon the far horizon. He watched her face for a moment then pulled her a bit closer. She snuggled into him as her arms wrapped about his waist. Her round belly pressed against his lean abdomen, and he felt the baby stir.

His gaze moved out to the sea again, but not as far as the horizon. The water was calm today; no storms were in sight. But when the next one hit, he would be sure that Rose and the baby were absolutely secure and safe. Tempests held little fascination for him now: They were a force to fear.

"What're you thinking about?" Rose asked, her voice slightly muffled by his wool jumper as she nuzzled her cheek against his chest.

"You." He bent to press a kiss over her hair. "Only you."

**

_Fin_

_**Note: **If there is sufficient interest, I will continue this in a sequel…_


End file.
